fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Shadow person)
Dad finally came home today, around half past two in the afternoon, BST. Clean bill of health.

Mum went down to get him, and they hired a taxi to bring them both back. Cost them, but Mum said it was worth it.

So maybe tonight, Mum will get a full night's sleep for the first time in, well, days.
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Shadow person)
Here's a summary of my Clan's recent crisis, and an update on the situation.

A few months back, Dad began to suffer incredible difficulties urinating. He began to turn an awful colour. The doctors took his blood, and Dad was prepared for the worst - that they'd come back and tell him it was something viral, like Hepatitis.

It was a gallstone. Dad had the scan some few weeks back. Big ugly lump of accreted calcium right there in his gall bladder. So the surgeons scheduled an operation for 24 June.

Dad went in on Thursday 23 June. He spent Thursday night and last night alone, with no Mum to be with him.

He hasn't slept alone, away from Mum, since the 1970s. And he hadn't been to a hospital as a patient for surgery like this for 43 years.

He was terrified. But moreover, the Clan was terrified. Mum couldn't get any sleep at all. She fell asleep for a few hours Friday morning at around 2am, but only because I sang "Whatever You Believe" (the Mike Batt song from The Hunting of The Snark) to her.

My sisters, the Maiden and the Mother, were both in town. I was amazed to hear the elder of my sisters on the youngest's phone (I am the eldest, followed by Sister #1 and my wastrel brother, Sis #1's twin, and followed lastly by the Maiden, Sis #2). Sis #1 lives 300 miles from us. She'd driven here and brought my little niece all the way up from Weston to be here for Dad.

I say "little." She's eleven, a few months short on my nephew, and I can see she's going to be Weston's answer to Mae West by the time she's eighteen.

Anyhow ... Dad's surgery took place at 9am Friday. They went in to theatre, incisions were made. Keyhole surgery.

The surgeon had never seen such a massive gallstone. It took four hours to extract it, and Dad suffered a violent reaction to the anaesthetic. The surgeon was amazed why Dad had not suffered more from such a stone. I guess, when you live the life we Proffwyd live, you get used to pain.

Friday was bad for Mum. She had to go into town alone to visit the hospital. And Dad didn't even want to see her. Mum was left wandering alone in town: she's tough, but she's not been apart from Dad and so alone in town for nigh on 27 years. She had no idea what buses to catch, whether there was a cafe open ... and she was starving. She texted me, and I made my way down to the town to see her. I had to walk. Normally, it's a 30 minute walk. I made it in fifteen minutes. Thank goodness I knew where there was a cafe open till late, and they even had a cake and coffee for Mum.

Last night was another sleepless night ... but this time, I stayed overnight in the guest room, to make sure Mum was okay.

This morning, Dad phoned. He sounds a hundred percent better. So Mum's going to visit him shortly, and he'll be coming home tomorrow or Monday.

So, I can breathe again.

It's just to let you know what's been going on of late. I've let everyone else know: time to let you all know online.

You know, we may have our differences, but he's still my Dad. And for all that we've been at loggerheads in the past, I'm glad he's okay.
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Shadow person)
... and tonight, I'm helping Mum out here at my folks' place.

Normally, I'd be in the flat, but tonight, Mum would be alone in this place, and that's unconscionable.

Dad's having gallstone removal surgery. It's the first time he's been in hospital for 43 years.

He's terrified.

Most of all, tonight he's on his own: a situation that he has not had to contend with since, damn, forever.

So, while I can't do a thing for him there, I can do this, and make sure Mum is sorted out here. Anything she needs for me to take care of, I'm here to get it done.

Anyways, my nephew, who's eleven, dropped by from school. He's worried about Dad, too. He told Mum the following, which moved me to tears:

"You know the two most special, precious things in the world to me?" he asked her. Then he said: "Taid and Uncle Ags."

My Dad - his Grandad - and me.

June 2017

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